


One Body, One Soul

by TiBun



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Bizarre Dolls, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, One Shot, Undead, Vincentaker, chapter 105 spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-26
Updated: 2015-05-26
Packaged: 2018-04-01 09:59:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4015477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TiBun/pseuds/TiBun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ciel lived far longer than Undertaker had expected, but when the demonic contract was finally fulfilled, Undertaker's plans were finally within his lonely grasp.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Body, One Soul

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own any recognizable characters, only explore the possibilities.

"Oh how much like your father you looked, young Earl…" Undertaker muttered with a saddened smile. His bony fingers caressing the soft cheek of Ciel Phantomhive as he lay on a table in the mortician's shop. "Exactly like him, in fact…except your eyes…You had your mother's eyes. I was fond of her, as well. I wish you could have met back up with her in your afterlife—she loved you so."

It had taken longer than he had expected. The young boy growing into a strapping young man of seventeen before his contract with his demon was fulfilled and his soul was consumed. Undertaker had watched, unable to do anything to stop it. The contract unbreakable.

But he had been waiting for it. Waiting for the Earl's life to be taken ever since he learned of the boy's contract. It was a bitter-sweet gift. To lose the son of Vincent Phantomhive was a travesty. But it gave him the perfect vessel. And the wait for his body had given him more than enough time to perfect his plans.

He had watched from a distance, his green eyes ringed with gold locked upon the demon coaxing the soul of his master out of his body with a kiss of death. The great winged beast swallowing it whole after letting the flavor of it linger just long enough to savor it before the handsome body it had belonged to collapsed in a heap. The reaper waited, watching in disgust as the hellish creature fed before finally disappearing in a burst of feathers, leaving behind the body to be found by some poor soul wandering about the streets.

But Undertaker got to him first, swiftly collecting what was formerly Ciel Phantomhive into his arms and disappearing to his dim little shop in the heart of London.

"I'm afraid, your shell must wait for its custom coffin, Ciel. His bones burned to ash, but yours…so fresh, so ready to live again. Soon, The Earl of Phantomhive will once again walk among the living. Will he hate me, I wonder?"

A tear rolled down his cheek and splashed upon the boy's.

"I couldn't protect your soul… I had grown quite fond of you, Earl. But then, I shouldn't be surprised…you are his son…"

With a sigh, he took a step back and summoned his scythe, "Well, let this madman turn the son into the father…"

As Undertaker stepped closer to the corpse, he coaxed a glowing wisp from his treasure before urging it into Ciel's former mortal body. Now came the hard part.

 

* * *

Something…

Something didn't feel right. It felt tight, his very body restricting like an ill-fitted suit three sizes too small soaked onto his skin after getting caught in a heavy rain.

He moaned, shifting his body uncomfortably and his own voice foreign to his ears. Turning his head to the side, Vincent struggled to open his eyes, only to find himself in an incredibly dim room lit only by a few candles flickering on a desk against the wall.

Where was he? This wasn't his bedroom. Surely if he were waking he would be in no other place—unless he fell asleep at his desk again after a long evening at work. But the desk in his vision was not his, either.

It took him time to remember how to sit up, but when he did, he finally was able to slowly take in his unfamiliar surroundings. Ageing walls in need of a fresh coat of paint, withered wooden floors that looked like any shift in weight upon them would cause them to creak horribly, a heavy wooden door across from the desk, and no windows. The room was small and lacked most furnishings, housing only the desk, a chair, and the table he woke up on, a white sheet covering him like a blanket.

It was then he realized he was half naked Stripped of his shirt and wearing only a pair of simple black slacks. Even his shoes were missing from his person.

He moaned again, closing his aching eyes to try to clear his vision more. Something seemed off about it, though he couldn't place it.

After opening his eyes once more, Vincent stiffly moved to stand up, finding he needed to grip the table to prevent his legs from collapsing beneath him. With care, he moved over to the desk, slipping into the chair and looking around for a clue as to where he was.

The desk had been cleaned out. Not a scrap of paper or single book or pen could be found in its drawers, yet, in the small bin under the desk he found the burnt remains of parchment.

Giving up on finding anything of use there, Vincent picked up one of the candles and stood up again, using the wall as his guide to the door. It was unlocked and he grunted as he pushed it open enough to slip through into the next room.

It was dark and Vincent squinted to try to make out what was there, holding his candle high to shed it's light farther. Seeing a glint of the flame's reflection, the former earl made his way over to it, hoping it would be a window.

Stumbling and tripping over crates and long thin boxes, Vincent finally reached it, only to pull the curtain aside to find himself looking into a mirror, rather than out a window.

"Wait…"

Before he turned to find another door or window, Vincent caught his reflection. Something definitely wasn't right. He looked like himself, only…not. He was younger, his face reminding him of his days at Weston, almost. Perhaps a little older than that. And his beauty mark by his eye was missing, replaced with a thin scar lining his forehead. But most strikingly, his eyes had changed to a blue as deep as the ocean on a sunny day. But one was faded and milky, scars marking the iris and blinding it, which was confirmed when he covered his good eye with his hand.

"What…has happened to me?" he gasped in the voice he still didn't recognize as his own as he touched his face, studying it in the mirror as he tried to piece things together to understand what was going on.

This wasn't right—it had to be a nightmare! He pushed himself away from the mirror, forcefully, knocking it from the wall and causing it to shatter upon the floor. In his haste to find a way out of the dream, he tripped, falling forward and his candle snuffing itself out as it rolled out of his grasp.

Footsteps sounded, hurrying down an unseen flight of stairs, the wood creaking and groaning under the weight of whomever was rushing down them, and then a door opened, light flooding in and creating a silhouette of the figure that had opened it.

Vincent looked up, his eyes wide and mouth agap. He knew that shape. He had seen it many times.

"Undertaker." With having something familiar, he felt some of his panic ease off.

"Vincent, how did you get out here?" Undertaker hurried to his side and helped pick the Earl of Phantomhive up, keeping his arms around him for support. "You woke up early…I'm sorry I wasn't there when you did." He steered the former human to the steps and up into a well lit sitting room, setting him down on a soft chair.

"Why am I here?" Vincent asked.

"Talking already? Amazing, I really have perfected it!" Undertaker cheered himself, literally patting himself on the back.

Vincent crossed his arms, "Mind explaining to me even a sliver of what is going on?"

"Hmm," Undertaker tapped his chin in thought with a long black nail, "How much do you remember?"

"I don't remember how I got here or what happened to me." Vincent pointed to his face, "What is this?"

Giggles erupted from the reaper as he flopped back on the davenport across from Vincent's chair. "It's a face, I would think that part is obvious!"

Vincent felt his cheeks flush, "It isn't _my_ face." He dryly pointed out.

The silver haired man sobered at that, "It wasn't originally, no." he agreed, pushing himself up, "But it is now. There was no helping it. I couldn't save your body…"

Vincent raised an eyebrow, "What is that supposed to mean, Undertaker?"

"…You must be starved! Come, let me make you a nice meal and steep some tea for you." Undertaker got up to hurry to the kitchen.

"Stop." The Earl pushed himself up to his unstable feet, "You are my most trusted informant, Undertaker, and so much more than that. So why won't you tell me what it is you are avoiding?"

Undertaker paused in the doorway, his face turned down and his hair in his eyes as he sighed, "You…died, Vincent." He finally croaked out, breaking the silence that had followed the earl's demand, "You were killed and your home burnt to the ground, destroying everything that was you but your soul."

He turned and glanced at the stunned earl through white bangs, "You were gone in body so I have given you a new one. Blame it on my greedy heart; I could not let you go. Not yet. Death did not yet deserve you."

Vincent stiffened, a cold chill rippling through his new body. He knew what Undertaker was. He knew he wasn't human and that he had abilities that no human could ever imagine. But…

"A new body?"

"It is younger than the one you are used to." Undertaker admitted, "I debated a long time if I should give you one or not. I debated on what body to give you. I could have given you any one I wanted. Made use of any of the bodies brought to me to be lay to rest. I could have made you any age, any sex. But in the end, only one felt right enough for you. The one that would look the most like you."

He crossed back over to Vincent and cupped his cheek lovingly, "I promise no harm came to him on my account. He lived out his natural course of life and ended in a fate he chose."

"I don't…" Vincent shook his head and pulled away to look at his hands, "Who..?"

Undertaker hesitated and glanced away in shame, "I believe you already know the answer to that." He strolled back to the door that led to the small kitchen, "I'll start on that tea and sandwiches."

He left Vincent to figure it out. He didn't want to say it. He didn't want to admit out loud what he'd precisely done.

Vincent lowered himself into the chair again. Who's body was he in? The body was that of a young man, and his face so similar to his own, only with bright blue eyes, just like…Rachel.

He gasped. How long had he been dead? Undertaker hadn't mentioned time at all. Could it be that his son—his little Ciel had…

"Undertaker!" He felt his heart clench painfully in his chest.

The mortician flinched and slowly moved to the door, watching Vincent clutch his chest and look up at him with wide, panicked eyes. The silence filled the space between them like a fog, choking out any unspoken words between them.

"C-Ciel…" The earl finally coughed.

Undertaker gave a small nod, "He was alone. You had been killed, his mother killed, his home burned to ash, and his own innocent self taken, even I know not where. When he came back, he'd changed. That happy little boy had been replaced with a boy beyond his years. A boy who had forgotten how to smile, and…" he nodded to Vincent's blinded eye, "A new contract with a demon. Revenge is what he worked for and I was unable to protect him from that. After he had tainted his soul black and attained his revenge, the demon took his soul, and I placed you within his empty shell."

He paused, studying the look of shock and sorrow upon the other's face.

"I'm sorry if this upsets you…"

You put me in my dead son's body?" Vincent cut him off, anger flashing in his blue eyes, "You _put_ me in my _son's dead body_!"

"Yes, I—"

"My son is dead, I am in his body, and you ask me ' _if_ '' this upsets me?"

"Would you rather I have let his body rot in the ground? For you to never see his likeness again?" Undertaker countered, flinching from the tone of Vincent's voice.

"No, but that doesn’t mean I want to _become_ my son! What were you thinking you daft old fool?!"

Undertaker swept over to Vincent, taking him into his arms and forcing his chin up so that they would make eye contact. "I was thinking that I love you, Vincent. That I needed you back in my arms. I was thinking that while I couldn't save your son, I could find a very small silver lining in the form for a new body for you. I didn't take his life, Vincent. I only put to use what was left…a bitter sweet gift to you while I indulge in my selfish need to have you back."

He pressed a kiss to Vincent's lips, letting it linger before he pulled back.

"I love you. But if you choose to go, I will not stop you. It is enough that you are upon this earth once more."

Vincent sighed and looked down, "I'm upset…and I will be for a long time. But I don't know if it is enough for me to walk away from you."

"I still have a chance to make it up to you, then." Undertaker smiled, pressing a kiss to Vincent's hair, "I still have a chance…"

 

* * *

-End-

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! I do hope you enjoyed it.
> 
> Inspired by Chapter 105, my theory that Undertaker is making Bizarre Dolls in order to perfect bringing back the dead to bring back Vincent, and a Theory Phoenix-of-Starlight came up with because of chapter 105.


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